Return of The Enemy
by Toydog16r
Summary: Its nearly 8 years since a terrible review hit McFly. But things are changing with the band and the girls. Danny and Angy's relationship is on the rocks while Bronwen and Tom struggle with the fallout of new realisations about her family. Can they survive
1. Chapter 1

**The fifth anniversary of Curtis Lee **

You are holding in your hands the third and (we promise) the last of three special issues commemorating the fifth anniversary of Curtis Lee. When we began planning these issues more than a year ago, we decided to use this milestone as an occasion to take stock of where we've been and where we are going.

It's been a huge undertaking, and we've interviewed more than 100 musicians, artists, leaders and thinkers, including two Rolling Stones, two Beatles and two presidents (Not Bush), not to mention scientists, comedians and philosophers, preachers and atheists. Our first issue looked at the figures that shaped the world the magazine came from and covered: musicians like Bob Dylan, John Lennon, Paul McCartney and Mick Jagger, politicians like Tony Blair, Jimmy Carter and Barack Obama and troublemakers.

Our second issue was an in-depth exploration of 1967, the year of our sister magazines. Rolling Stone's birth.

This issue looks forward, not back, and it's packed with interviews with the artists, leaders and thinkers who can best divine what is best for our future. Where we stand in the future could define us: for these facts and figure shall tell us what our grandchildren will be. For this I turned to my old friend, and MP for Dublin, the Irish Catholic Sinead O'Brien.

We don't claim to have the answers to these challenges, but we do know where to look for leadership and inspiration. The values of tolerance, inclusiveness, common sense and personal liberty (not to mention fun) that took shape in the 1960's: these people inspired our magazine.

As we put this issue to bed, I would like to thank the extraordinary artists and thinkers who were so generous with their time. And a tip of the hat to our staff, especially executive editor and deputy managing editors Angharad Locke and our specialist political analyst Sinead O'Brien, who each oversaw one of these special issues and guided our dedicated editors, photo editors, fact checkers and copy editors through many hard day's nights.

.

Bronwen John-Fletcher 


	2. Chapter 2: That's my fault

**Ok, some will have read my previous attempt at Just my luck with 'The Enemy'. This is it's sequel. I hope you all enjoy it!**

* * *

**One  
You're young that's your fault  
(C) Cat Stevens**

Angharad Jones smiled as she put her small son down into his cot in the offices. The name was still bugging her – she wanted something unique. The 'unique' idea was nearly impossible with the name Jones.

"Perhaps I should call you Locke-Jones huh son?" she asked, the baby merely suckled on his knuckles and looked up at Angharad with her own blue eyes. 'Then your aunty Bron would have fun wouldn't she?' She paused. 'Why did I get drunk and agree for her to be a godmother?'

"Probably she got you drunk," teased Lara – Angharad's understudy for photographs in Curtis Lee. 'How're you Mrs. Jones?'

"Fine, what do you think of the name Wilder?" Angharad asked, smiling at the younger woman.

"Mmm... not the greatest of ideas," her protégé admitted.

"Well how about…. Harry… but we've got a Harry," Angharad sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. This was getting more annoying by the second. 'Mark… nice and easy and your dad can't forget your name like he can William's name… anyway is the boss lady in?'

"Bronwen? She's in the kitchens… and everyone else has run because she was going bonkers."

"I'll see you in five minutes then.'

Angharad sighed as she headed down the familiar corridors. It was hard to believe that the Curtis Lee had been going for nearly five years. God knows she'd been married for three and a half. She smiled and twisted the ring on her left hand ring finger. She was a proud mother of two now: who didn't often leave her offices in London any more.  
She shook her head slightly sadly at this thought. Something's were destined to change in time. But Angharad had never been quite ready to finish before 30.

"For Christ's fucking sake!"

But one thing was for certain. Bronwen wasn't to change. She refused to conform to the wife and mother role: it was too frightening to consider. She still wore a 30's suit, with the trilby and the doctor marten boots.

And judging from the rushing young journalists (who remained older than Bron and Angharad) she still had the fear factor in her demeanour. She chuckled and opened the door to the kitchenette, admiring the scene before her.

Bronwen was facing the kitchenette, streaming out numerous swearwords in welsh and Italian (the latter being a bad habit picked up from Julian) as well as humming along to The Beatles 'Hey Jude'.

"Jesus Christ Bronwen!" Angharad teased, softly. 'Aren't you going to give me a smile?'

"No! All the Jaffa cakes have gone!" Bron wailed, despairingly.

Angharad sighed, realising why she was grateful she'd gone off on pregnancy leave nearly 3 months before the birth of 'Mark'. 'Bronwen… how many months to go?'

"Three…" Bron turned, revealing a large stomach. She nursed it with her right hand. Angharad's jaw dropped. 'I know… I'm huge.'

"Huge? Your stomach should have it's own orbit!" Angy admired her slowly, before pressing a hand to Bron's stomach. "Hello little one. Enjoying your stay?'

"Not for much longer!" Bron gave her stomach a slight slap – not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to ensure Angy the pregnancy was finally getting to her. 'Got a hospital appointment to keep a check on my spleen condition, at half ten I should be out by twelve, fancy meeting me in the park?'

"Don't mind," Angharad replied.

"You are a tonne of help Locke," Bron replied snidely. She felt an indignant kick once more. 'A serious help: a most intellectual woman. As if.'

"Yeah but I'm not the one who's waddling and whose stubby arms can't reach my neck because her expansive stomach is in the way." Angharad smirked triumphantly. 'See you in Hyde Park at half twelve?'

"Seems a reasonable time... I'll see you."

"And Angy?"

"Yeah?"

"MY ARMS ARE NOT STUBBY!"

Angharad chuckled before heading into her office, into the comfort of normality. To her it had been a long four months, three weeks and nine days. It had been too long since Bronwen and her had sparred together in these offices. It had been much too long.

By eleven twenty in St. Elizabeth's maternity hospital, Bronwen was sick and tired of waiting. The child was kicking lucidly within her womb, which assured Bronwen in her own way there was nothing wrong with the baby. In fact, quite often the constant movement of the baby normally annoyed her in comparison to her previous child, Shaun Phoenix Fletcher. Yet now the kicks were now comforting her and she smiled in open relief.

"Shush now little one," she whispered, putting her hand on her womb and splaying her fingers outwards. 'I know it's not you my sweetheart.'

The clinical white of hospitals did nothing for Bronwen's health. The people in white coats reminded her of angels of death, and she was now currently receiving murderous glares from several nurses for making her doctor martens squeak across the floor repeatedly.

It was the small victory of winding them up which Bron enjoyed. Let alone the fact Angy wasn't here to give her leg a slight slap to discourage this continuous annoying sound. Yet a particular reason which Bronwen was outstandingly nervous was because of her new doctor's reaction when he'd taken her bloods.

After having her bloods taken, the young Dr. Grissom had rushed off to check something inconsequential before returning and asking her to remain here until they performed a systematic analysis. Thus it was cutting into her dinner hour. Thus it was cutting into 'biscuit time' as Tom had labelled his hormonal wife's pregnancy. Thus it was concerning Bronwen that her unborn child could be suffering due to her idiocy in Scotland only a few years before.  
_  
Please, please, let my baby be alright._ She pleaded mentally, rubbing at her arm.

"Mrs. John-Fletcher?" she looked up into the young doctor's face praying it wasn't bad news. 'I've got some news for you.'

Bron stood nervously, her hand clamped over her womb. 'He's kicking in here. He's fine.'

"I know that Mrs. John-Fletcher, but I'd like to discuss some facts about your father."

Bronwen wandered outside, feeling every pain wash over her available. She clutched at her stomach, tears rolling idly down her cheeks. Angharad walked up, she'd grown concerned over Bronwen's lack of appearance, and on seeing her best friend's agonised expression she recognised the upset.

"Bronwen?" Bron looked up blindly at her name, as if only registering it briefly. 'Are you alright?'

"It can't be true, It just can't be true?!" Bronwen sobbed, quickly embracing Angharad. Angharad held her close allowing Bronwen's tears to slip erratically onto her shoulder. 'Bronwen!'

"He's not my dad!" Bron sobbed, suddenly breaking down and nearly collapsing with the shock. 'Peter John wasn't my dad.'

**

From a window, the doctor who had treated Bronwen watched as the heavily pregnant woman was escorted to a car by her friend. He felt his heart strings tug at the sight of Bronwen clutching at her womb and nearly collapsing with the shock.

The woman in black next to him, watched idly. Her eyes were impassive behind her black sunglasses, as she watched.

"I'm not happy with this." He said annoyed. 'That woman is under enough stress with her work, let alone adding this.'

"It doesn't matter what you think," she replied angrily. 'That could be the grandchild of my husband.... who cares about the child of her!'


	3. Chapter 3: I need sweets!

Two

Underneath a winter's sky  
Her eyes were bright  
Tonight he finds her  
Underneath a winter's moon  
The last we saw of her, it came too soon

(C) The Pippette's: Underneath a winters sky.

"Angy I need more chocolate,"

Angy let out a growl of temper; there was no way Bronwen was going to stuff herself silly on her watch. She'd already gorged her way through the majority of her kitchen's sweet things. Angy had successfully prised most off of her, but Bron was still refusing to relinquish the final bowl.

"No," she said firmly, just managing to catch hold of it, before Bron delivered a sharp slap to her fingers – making her recoil in slight pain.. "I think you've had enough for one day." She raised a pointed eyebrow at Bron's chocolate covered fingers.

"Angy you don't get news that you're father isn't your father everyday!" Bronwen continued to wail, attempting to get a firm hold on the pot of chocolate she had melted. 'And bloody Tom is recording so I can't ring him… blonde git…. INEEDSWEETS!'

"I told you no!" She snatched the pot of chocolate from Bron's hands and placed it on a shelf out of her friend's reach. "I feel for you, really I do, but this isn't the time to give the baby and yourself a heart attack from a sugar overdose." She rubbed a hand through her hair. "Why can't you be normal and crave alcohol at a time like this? At least there's a lock on the liquor cabinet."

"I know but I'm not normal. I'm Bronwen." Bron put her hand on her bump. The lack of a kick startled her until another surprised her. 'I know boy, I know, Angy why is it that when I finally get over one fathers suicide, I find that I have suffered for nearly… I don't know how long… for the bastard who wasn't my dad after all! And When I'm pregnant, and hormonal and fat… oh fuck my life can't get worse.'

"It could get a lot worse," Angharad retorted, refusing to give in to her friend's pity party. "Knowing you've been agonising over a man who isn't your dad, yeah I feel for you on that point. I can't imagine how you must be feeling. But, you have a healthy baby on the way, the sweetest toddler I have ever known, cheeky twins who are exactly like you and a wonderful husband who loves you." Angy paused for breath before continuing, "Now is the time for positives, don't you think?"

Bron smirked softly, an unusual sight, before she caught Angharad's hand and put it on her stomach. 'Wait a minute. I think it's agreeing.'

Angharad snorted, splaying her fingers. "Of course it's agreeing. I'm always right."

Bron chuckled before rubbing her stomach. 'I need to find him Angy… I need to find whoever the bastard is who did that to mam.'

"Maybe it was for the best." At Bron's sharp look, Angharad shrugged. "Neither of us know the circumstances yet. I think you should speak to your mother before the stress kills the both of us."

"Talk to mam? About sex. Angy darling I did that once. It was enough. No wonder I'm fucking pregnant." She shook her head. 'No no my friend. I'm a journalist for a reason. As are you…. And we haven't done much time on the road in years.' She turned to exit before stopping in the doorway and smirking. And then Angharad saw the teenage version of her friend. 'Get your shovel… we're doing some digging.'

Sighing, Angharad got to her feet, muttering, "I wasn't talking about sex you daft sod." Before following on Bron's heels, just as eager for some digging. She supposed it was the journalist in her. It wasn't suited to having kids, it needed adventure.

"I'll ring Julian and tell him to hold onto my brats for a while longer..." Bronwen said, putting some stuff in her bag, which she'd carried since she'd become an official journalist.

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled with looking after the antichrist twins! And I've changed my name, Mark's name is now Connor." Angharad shook her head. 'Nathan-Phoenix is cute.'

"And remember you've got to ring Danny, and tell him he's picking up your pair," Angharad pulled a face at which Bron frowned. 'I thought you two were over you're rough patch.'

"Danny's being dead secretive and quiet," Angy shrugged. 'I don't know what to say...'

Bronwen examined her best friend with cool eyes before shrugging laconically. 'I might give Sin a ring, and ask her advice on finding people. Sean and her were always good at that… but we'll go to the library first.'

"Always a good place to start." Angharad agreed.

From a car opposite the house, the woman in black watched with calculating eyes as the two women exited Bronwen's townhouse. Bronwen was ahead. She was smiling as she waddled down the three marble steps, chatting on the phone.

She reminded her so much of him: she'd only met her once with Julian but the two were beyond compare in looks. She was of John's stock with her eyes and smile. But she couldn't be sure: she needed the girl to do her own dirty work.

"Mum?" The woman's eyes widened at the sight of her son looking visibly nervous. 'Are you sure this is ok? I mean look at the size of her. She's pregnant?'

"Sean... just make sure they find the right stuff when they go looking for it." The woman lit a cigarette and watched as the girl clambered into the car. The girls life she was set to gain for her own like she had gained her husband's love.

_By hook or by crook. _

The library was stocked to capacity of nonsensical books was actually fastidious in both women's opinion. But in their youth they'd spent many an hour in this Bedford library, so close to where the Lennon family had made their home in the 60's. Bronwen herself, was only waiting upon the renovators to return the Kenwood house to its former glory so she could move in – much to Julian's apparent chagrin with her apparent Lennon obsession.

"Still filtering through police reports?" Bron asked, as she stepped over Angharad as carried a new set of books down. 'I'm still going through these files, see if there's anyone I actually know.'

"Remind me why we won the Pulitzer?" Angharad asked, smirking as Bron growled in her general direction. 'What was it the speech we gave said?'

"Be young, idealistic but put in the hard labour which is required. We did all that," Bron smirked, shaking her head. 'I was 21 and you were 20 when we delivered those speeches.'

"We were young and mad," Angharad murmured. She picked up an article between her fingers and sighed. 'Remember those days?'

"Yeah before I was waddling and was on my fourth kid, and you had given birth to two angels, " Bron shook her head. 'I'm sure we were a few years more idiotic then!'

Angharad shook her head, as they continued to filter through various magazines which featured Jane's articles and occasional photographs of the 'Nutter's club' as Jane had deemed their small society in the eighties. Bron cut out photo's of each male in the photograph, shaking her head as she tried to find similarities between her and them.

"What about Julian?" Angharad asked, as she noted that every photo of Zak, Julian and Hugh was being discarded. 'He could be your old man?'

"Let's finish up and as if!" Bronwen snorted, as she began packing up. 'Julian could never be my dad, he couldn't keep his mouth shut long enough!'

They laughed, neither noticing that a lone angel stood overseeing the proceedings with a worried expression on his face. In his opinion, destiny couldn't be stopped or shaken and that this was meant to happen. But not like this... he watched his granddaughter pack up the last of her things before heading outside. He considered following her but instead left it as it stood.


	4. Chapter 4: Secrets and concerns

Three

It's been awhile since you came around  
Now ya wanna see what's goin' down  
Tryin' to tell me why ya want my time  
Tryin' to tell me how I'm on your mind  
See it never had to be this way  
You should of never played the games you played  
Now I'm seein' that you're kinda lame  
Knowin how the situation change  
(C) Ain't it funny? Avril Lavigne

"JUDE! PAUL! "

Bronwen walked into her parent's townhouse smiling at the sound of her stepfather running about chasing his two young grandchildren. Their riotous laughter echoed through the townhouse, and Bronwen laughed with it. It was hard to believe that it had been nearly four years since she had adopted the twins and become a big sister to Ioan.

Unfortunately she couldn't hear her two year-old son, Nathan Phoenix Fletcher, going around with her. She smiled, already guessing where Julian had placed the toddler. She trotted through, placing her hand on her predominantly pregnant stomach.

Sure enough, in Julian's sunroom was the small form of Nathan Phoenix, with his dirty blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes shining out. He snuffled tiredly and reached upwards to his mother.

"Mama I'm tired," he complained sleepily. 'Home now?'

"No," Bron replied, smoothing down his fringe away from his eyes. He looked like a mini version of his father with Chris's eyes and it always startled Bron. 'You're nearly sleeping, I'll wait for a while.'

At this moment, Julian walked into the sun room as he carried the giggling twins under each arm. He grinned at his stepdaughter before planting a fond kiss on her head. He was a few years older but no wiser for it.

"Bronwen my darling, your mother is picking your brother up," he laughed. 'When are you taking these two home? I don't mind Nathan! He's lovely!'

"Not tonight I don't think," Bronwen admitted, pinching the bridge of her nose. Julian sighed and gently pushed the twins into where his mother was sitting reading a book. She looked up from her book with a smile and flung her arms open to the twins who rushed into them thankfully. 'Dad do you know of anyone my mum went out with shortly before I was born?'

"I cant think of any," Julian shared a look with his mother who cocked her eyebrow but it wasn't noticed by Bron. 'Come on now, let's chat in the kitchen. We always chat better in there.'

"I'd rather discuss this on the veranda," Bron said, quietly. He placed his hand his hand on her shoulder and led her outside. 'I've had some disturbing news Jules.'

Cynthia smiled as she watched the two walk through the house. It was impossible to deny Bronwen was John's grandchild and it was this thought which inspired her after the death of her last husband to return to Great Britain. The thought of seeing both her grandchildren, not to mention her great-grandchildren made her grin.

Oh it was true, she loved Ioan to bits – but he had the spirits of the Robert's and Powell's. Bronwen had the spirit of John – the lovable spirit of John, not the bastard side of him. As soon as she'd seen Bronwen at the age of three months, she'd known she was his granddaughter. It had only been a year after the birth of Ioan, that Julian and Jennifer confirmed that she was a Lennon. But she was not to tell Bronwen.

"Gran?" Phoenix had awoken and was smiling at her. 'Story please!'

Bron stared out over the garden. She always did that, Julian noted. As if to escape the facts of life sometimes – other times as if to get clarification. Yet now there was sad tinge to the stare.

"What's bothering you?" he asked quietly, although he didn't receive acknowledgement of his question. 'Spill it Bron.'

"Daddy wasn't my daddy," Bronwen explained quietly. She settled further back in her seat before continuing. 'How did you know before me?'

"Had an inkling," Julian replied just as softly. She turned to him smiling. 'How'd you kn-'

"Blood test with the doctor, Mam is blood type A and Dad was blood type O. Mine is AB. My dad can't be my father." Bron sighed. 'Jules do you know any-'

"Bron I can't," Julian reached over and clasped her hand slowly in his. She squeezed it gently. He was yearning to tell her, but he couldn't. 'I cannot… sorry.'

Bron offered him a small smile. He sighed. It was near impossible to hide Bron's features – in anger her face contorted into John's. Most of the time, however, it looked like Jenn and his features. It was one of the best kept secrets in the music industry, and only a closed circle knew the facts. She leant over and kissed Julian's cheek. 'Thanks dad.'

"I'm your stepdad." Julian reminded her fondly. 'What else would I do?'

When Angharad walked into her London home, she was greeted by her older son William colliding with her legs. She laughed and lifted him into the air as his all three years wriggled in her grasp.

"Will you behave?" she laughed. 'Where's daddy?'

"On the phone talking to a woman," William wriggled down, giggling as his mother chased him.

Despite her own happiness with her young son, Angy sensed there was something wrong. It had been awkward since Danny's last tour when she had been 4 months pregnant with Connor, and he'd refused to discuss the tour. Even Tom didn't talk about that tour – as if informed not to by Danny.

"Yeah, yeah I'll give over the money in due time," he asserted softly as Angharad entered. 'Yeah Yeah, look I've got to go.' He turned the phone off abruptly before turning his attention to his wife. 'Hey love, you alright?'

"Just fine love," she grinned, somewhat falsely. 'How's your day been?'

"Basically just recording," he replied, ruffling William's hair fondly as he hugged him. 'How's Bron's search for her dad gone?'

"Not well this afternoon in the library," Angharad replied. She pinched her nose. 'I'm just going to strip off and change. I need some rest.'

"I'll put some dinner on." Danny kissed her cheek lovingly.

Angharad returned from the shower, wiping down her face. She'd dressed in her usual t-shirt and jeans, and downstairs she could hear the familiar shouting of William and Connor's giggles, accompanied by the laughter of her husband.

Shaking her head she walked into the study, and smiled at the sight of the poetry book on the table. Since his last tour, Danny had been writing consistent poetry, although Angharad wasn't allowed to look.

Looking around secretively, she noted no one was coming. With a small and benign smile, she flipped the pages to the last page. She immediately regretted it.

_**"She loves him**_  
_**And he loves her**_  
_**But that's not "her"**_  
_**The one he loves**_  
_**It's the other girl**_  
_**She doesn't know"**_

Angharad read the words and sat back in her seat, chewing on her bottom lip in anticipation. If she told Danny, it would result in a row. If she didn't, then she could ignore the facts and just deal with the sinking feeling in her stomach which wouldn't be quenched.

"Mummy!" the voice of William broke through her thoughts, and in act of total defiance, she leant over and ripped the piece of paper out of the book. The little piece of 'poetry' was tucked into her jean pocket and she swore under her breath as William entered. 'Mummy? Daddy's asking where are you, hidden?'

"Tell daddy I'll be downstairs now," Angharad smiled as her son rushed off before shutting the book and replacing it. She picked up a camera, and was heading downstairs when Danny came rushing upstairs. 'Ooh hello what do you want?'

"Why are you in here?" he asked, looking slightly annoyed.

She held up the camera and he flinched slightly as she snapped a photo of him. 'Was going to use this to snap some photographs of our sons. Is there something wrong love?'

"No, nothing at all," he replied, too quickly. 'Come on let's grab some grub with our small family.'

He placed his hand on her lip and they walked downstairs, although Angharad was sure her heart was threatening to break or crumple like the sheaf of paper in her pocket.


	5. Chapter 5: In trouble as usual

Four

Well Charlie Chan, Simon Smith,  
got nothing, child, on me.  
Sergeant Friday, Peter Gunn  
and ooo Alan B.

(C) Searchin' : The coasters

"So how's the search going?"

Bronwen looked up lazily from where she was slumped in her chair with her feet resting on the desk. The editor had a large office to the west of the main offices, where she relaxed – although this had been her initial office before Curtis Lee's full expansion. She'd begun a new underground paper in many respects here and invented a new technique of journalism with Angharad here. When all the glory assaulted her however this is where sought solitude at work.

"Not well, not been able to dig up any new leads," Bron replied, looking at Angharad with tired eyes. 'I'm sick to death of people telling me they now nothing. It's as if everyone's...'

"Closed ranks," Angharad finished. She offered her friend a sad smile. 'Perhaps it's for the best though Bron.'

"For whom?" Bron asked sarcastically. She was about to continue with her row, when the small figure of Pippa Buckley bounced into the room. 'Don't you know how to knock?'

Both Angharad and Pippa flinched. Angharad flinched more in sympathy for the young reporter. She was competent, blonde bobbed and destined for great things. But sometimes she needed a restraining hand – even with a promotion on the cards.

"Just coming to see if you're ready chief?" Pippa enquired brightly. 'Y'know for...'

"I know where and when," Bron noted the look of surprise in Angharad's eyes. 'I'm going underground for my search. Didn't want you involved.'

"How underground?" Angharad asked, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. 'Not...'

"Not saying..."

"Am I interrupting something?" Pippa asked, overbrightly.

"What's with the stupid hat?" Bronwen enquired darkly, glaring at her young journalist as well as the accused communist beret.

"The Nazi's are coming back!" announced Pippa, as she waited for Bronwen to make some derogatory comment. 'So perhaps we should do some writing on stopping them rather than articles on this stupid general election.'

"What's the point?" Bron said, pinching the bridge of her nose. 'The BNP haven't gained a seat and have gone down in popularity, why should I interest myself with this?'

Beneath her communist beret, Pippa blushed furiously and pointed at a fresh bruise underneath her left eye. It was obviously from someone giving a sharp punch, although like Bronwen, Angharad couldn't see much of a wound. 'Look, look at what they did to me!'

"You'll live," Bronwen replied coldly. Angharad noted that Pippa was always at the receiving end of Bron's quick temper – but Angharad knew it was the tough-love policy that would make Pippa a much better journalist. 'Now scoot out!'

"But Bron, I thought you wanted a lift to the houses of parliament!" Pippa complained, frowning petulantly.

"Pip, I'll take the lift but I'm meeting a friend in parliament," Bron shrugged on a coat. 'Angharad I'll meet you back here later on.'

"Sure thing," Angharad smiled. She already knew who she was meeting. And she already knew that the two's old friend would do exactly what Bron wanted.

"_**Our task must be to free ourselves by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature and its beauty.**_ _**Albert Einstein"  
**_  
Sinead O'Brien-Hill, MP for Dublin, read this quote which had been stuck on her small clipboard as she walked through the houses of Parliament. It was a beautiful quote she realised; Keelan must've put it there when she'd been trying to escape without her security guard.

Such quotes invoked memories of herself growing up in Northern Ireland. Her father was an Irish Renegade Guard not to mention a Catholic. So how she had became friends with the 'foreign' welsh protestant, Bronwen, was still beyond her. Perhaps it was because of their mutual sense of rebellion. Two little girls who had sworn to be friends forever and it still remained true.

Yet this thought was shoved to the back of Sinead's mind as she forced herself to concentrate on the main attack points for her opponent, PM David Cameron. Her deep-seated hatred of the man was the main reason she felt like attacking him – but she still had to remain in the rules of the Commons.

"Mrs. Hill?" Sinead's head snapped to attention and immediately focused on Bronwen who was standing next to her PR man. 'This woman...'

"Is a very good friend," Sinead dislodged the man and pressed her hand to Bron's stomach. 'How is she?'

"It is kicking, I am determined not to lose this bet over the sex!" she grinned and hugged her old friend. 'How's everything going with my old sparring partner?'

"Well, Keelan's suggested having a baby for publicity purposes, but we've agreed to have one after, if I win or lose the election," Sinead rolled her eyes as Bron chuckled softly. 'Why are you here?'

"Can't a friend come and visit?" Sinead merely cocked her eyebrow and Bron laughed at that before addressing her in Gaelic. 'Do you have any idea how I can track down someone?'

"Legally or illegally?" Sinead said, returning to her native tongue with practised ease. 'Legally go through the channels. Illegally? Give the job to me dad, he's restless enough as it is. Who you looking for?'

"My proper dad," Bron said quietly. Sinead nodded. 'Tom doesn't know I'm doing this mind…'

"And why not?" Sinead said, narrowing her eyes dangerously. 'You're not seriously putting stress ontop of yourself?'

"No, I just need to know," Bron explained. 'Mind if I sit in on the discussion?'

"Sir Paul's here," Sinead gestured in the general direction of the spectator gallery. Bron bowed her head in consideration, but Sinead caught it and examined. 'I'll run your face through a genetic analysis with your mothers – and then we'll hunt down the man who is your dad.'

"Ta," Bron smiled. 'How long will that take?'

"I'd say three weeks properly," Sinead shrugged. 'Can't do anything to make it quicker. On the plus side, you'll be nearer to your due date. How long now?

"Four months and nine days to go! I keep telling Angy its three months for some reason? Wanna feel?" Sinead chuckled before accepting the offer and rubbing the pregnant stomach. 'Yes in there my girl you kick all you wish.'

"It's not you it's kicking though is it?" teased Bronwen, although she smiled. 'Enjoy taking Mr. Cameron down a peg or three. I know I will enjoy watching!'

"Will do, see you old friend!" Sinead said, heading off in the direction of the House of Commons.

**

As it turned out, Angharad didn't miss Bronwen that much. She was too occupied in hunting down the subject of the poem. She knew she was the latter woman that he adored, but the other parts of the poem she was unsure of.

As if sensing her hysteria, there was a tap on the door and Julian entered. Angharad smiled at the man waggling her fingers. He grinned.

"Is Bron in?" he asked, casually sitting down on her sofa.

"No Why?"

"Banning her from seeing her mother and Ioan…" on seeing her horrified expression he raised his hands. 'Not like that! They've got German measles and it's still risky to the new baby's health. So they've been quarantined.'

"Who's been quarantined?" Bron asked lightly, waddling in and smiling. 'Missed a great tory bashing Angy.'

"You're mother has been quarantined," Julian interjected quickly before the two began talking politics. 'And I need lunch to explain it over.'

"Coming Angy?" Bronwen asked.

Angy flashed a false smile. 'Yeah sure. Just give me a minute.' Angy waited until Bronwen had paced away before stashing the paper away. She didn't notice Bron watching from between the blinds.

"You shouldn't be spying!"

"I'm not spying!" she turned to the speaker, and instantly frowned. 'Uh oh?'

"Uh-oh indeed, Keelan just rung me to tell me that you've been after Sinead's father about your father," Tom said, annoyed. Bron ducked her head in embarrassment. 'Ah, it's true then?'

"I just wanted to find out," Bronwen admitted, closing the gap in between them. Tom brushed his hand along her stomach. 'Every door seems to have been closed to Me.'

"For your own good probably... I thought we discussed this last night that it would be easier to leave it as it stood," Tom ran his hand along his wife's womb. 'You're blood pressure is through the roof, and it's bad enough you've got Braxton Hicks syndrome as it is.'

"It's just... I want to give him a chance so much," Bron sighed. She lifted Tom's hand and kissed it softly. 'Do you know why Angy and Danny are being so weird together.'

"I have no idea," Tom planted a soft kiss on her head. 'Now will you please, at least settle down for a couple of days, otherwise it'll be us two weird together.'

"I like being us two being weird together. Feel like brunch?"

"With you it's a bloody banquet in pregnancy!" teased Tom, kissing her. 'And indeed I will...'


	6. Chapter 6: The slight discovery

**_Five_**

**_Turn off your engines and slow down your wheels _**  
**_Suddenly your master plan loses its appeal _**  
**_Everybody knows that this reality's not real _**  
**_So raise a glass to all things past and celebrate how good it feels._**  
**_(C) Port Isaacs fisherman's: No hopers, jokers and rogue._**

"Why is Danny so closed up about the tour anyway?"

The question came so suddenly that Tom didn't even have time to register it. At this moment, him and Bron were sitting in the kitchen, Bronwen reading over notes while Tom sipped at his coffee. The kids were all out, and the two (not including the bump) had enjoyed a lovely dinner.

"I have no idea what you're on about," Tom replied, he looked over at where she was sitting idly reading over notes. 'By the way where's Nathan?'

"Phoenix is out with your best buddy the Poynter's," Bron replied lightly. 'We are going to give the child a complex calling him by differing names.'

"Didn't hurt you did it?" Tom teased, standing and putting his coffee on the sideboard. 'And yes Danny's acting weird for a reason….'

"Spill," Bron said, although Tom quickly pinned her to her seat and was kissing her face all over and she was giggling. 'No fair!'

"I love being all cutesy with you because it embarrasses you!" he grinned, and kissed her softly on her lips. 'Now will you please quit it with your father?'

"No," Bron admitted. 'Tom you've got to lovely parents and believe me it's hard for me to admit that especially as a bride of you!'

"Bron, you've got Jules and Jenn that should be enough," Tom said, releasing his wife and turning to her with a frown. 'Now please, if it's just for the baby's sake cool it till after she's born.'

"I'll do my best," Bron promised, although she crossed her legs in an attempt to avoid the truth of the statement. 'But if something of interest comes up, I am not abandoning my post!'

"Fair enough, and when are you going on pregnancy leave… Jann's rung me nine times since you announced you were pregnant," Tom raised his hands at his wife's indignant look. 'He's flying over tonight if I don't answer him.'

"I'm not going on leave," Bron said sulkily, although Tom's soft smile made her smile. 'Can't I do what I did last time, and just go into retirement for two months before? Interviewing people I liked?'

"You went into labour on poor Mick Jagger!" Tom laughed, kissing her head.. 'I'll never forget Keith Richards running into my recording session!'

Bronwen laughed softly, and put her arms around her friend and husbands waist. 'Why are you so determined it's a girl?'

"Just a feeling," he replied. "Either way, it's fine with me. No pressure."

"Oh, no, not at all," she laughed, smacking him playfully. "Anyway, whatever it is, girl or boy, it's on you. It's the man who determines the sex of the child. Didn't you learn that in school?"

He snorted and replied, "I learnt precious little there. Well, whatever it is, it's all right as long as it's healthy."

"I'm glad you think so?" Bronwen rubbed her nose to his. 'I'll do my best to stay away.'

"Thank you," he planted a kiss on her lips and ran his fingers across her womb. 'Now then I've got recording... what do, you plan on now?'

"I'll go to Angy's probably; she needs the keys for the cottage," Bronwen replied gently.

Meanwhile, Angharad was carefully packing away all her things. Her thoughts were drifting towards the Irish cottage, while she idly thought about the letter. Unlike Bronwen who was searching for the why question about the sudden disillusionment of Danny's love for her, Angharad was looking to fix her marriage. This thought span idly within her mind as she packed away the last of her things.

William sat on the edge of her bed, watching his mother pack while playing with Connor. He smiled at his mother, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Is Ireland nice mammy?"

"Yes sweetheart," Angharad smiled, kissing her cheek. 'Bron's got these beautiful horses there, and there's green countryside, and lovely grotto's to hide in.'

"Weren't you kidnapped there mummy?"

Angharad scowled, wishing her husband hasn't told her son the news of a lifetime when she'd been kidnapped. Yet she was determined that this weekend was to be her weekend.

A sudden knock at the door sent William racing downstairs to meet what he expected to be his aunties either Gwen, Bron or Charlotte. Each would feign surprise and pretend to faint or whatever before ruffling his hair and sending him off to play with each of their own children. Angharad sighed, wrapping little Connor in a blanket and heading downstairs with him.

"She's blonde and they're all brunettes," Angharad stated firmly as she prised open the door. Hey can I help you?'

"Hello my name is Lady Kirsten March," The woman held out a manicured hand, and smiled falsely at Angharad. 'I'm an associate of your husband, may I come in?'

"Of course," Angharad bit back a feeling of suspicion and misgiving she had about the woman, and stepped aside to allow her into the house. 'So how do you know my husband?'

"Through touring, what a poky little place this is, cute though." Kirsten stated, in a nasty sarcastic tone. Angharad sighed and almost retorted but resisted due to the reappearance of William. 'Oh what a charming little lad!'

"Yes he is," Angharad said, smiling proudly at her eldest son. His looks were that of Danny, apart from his alluring deep blue eyes which belonged to Angharad alone. 'His names...'

"I know his name, Danny never stopped talking about him," Kirsten smiled holding out her hand and offering it to shake to William. William however rushed off. 'Ah... he's got his dads looks...' she turned and looked Angharad up and down. 'He certainly doesn't have your looks.' That was it.

Yet any retort Angharad had stored up was interrupted however, by the entrance of Bronwen. She waddled through the house kicking the door shut and talking on her mobile phone.

"Jann no, your not coming. I don't care if you're in the departure lounge now, I don't want you here. Hey Angy," she said towards the gobsmacked Kirsten and the tolerant Angharad. 'Now get this straight... Jann? The bugger signed off!' she laughed capriciously before turning her attention to Kirsten. 'And who are you?'

"This is Bronwen Fletcher, Bron, meet Kirsten," Angharad introduced. She was slightly relieved to see Bron, as she didn't want to lose her cool and upset any associations Danny had with her, and Bron despite her own volatile nature would calm her down.

The three women and the two children sat together, eating and talking. Kirsten attempted all ways to get around the two Fletcher children only to find herself rebuffed by the two ignoring her in favour of speaking and gurgling to both their mother and aunty.

"I'm telling you Dan," the front door slammed shut, and the voices of both Tom and Danny echoed through the rooms. Neither seemed particularly amused, although their voices cheered when William went rushing through. 'Hey there sport! Anyway, she's just joshing you!'

Both froze in the doorway on seeing the three women sitting. Bronwen noted her husband's lips curving into the familiar derisive sneer that he had when anger, and she quickly realised that it was due to the new third party this sneer was so apparent. She looked at him, and narrowed her eyes, although he shook his head warningly.

"Daniel," Kirsten stood, and smiled. 'How're you? I was thinking of you and called in...'

"Well, I'll escort you to your car," Danny ground out catching the smirking Kirsten around the wrist and walking her out. 'And Angy, I'll meet you at the ferry... I'll explain later.'

Bronwen watched Angy's face crumple and looked at her husband, who merely reminded her of the clinic for the check-up of her spleen and how it was affecting her pregnancy. Bron reassured her friend as she handed her friend the keys to the cottage that she was only on the end of the phone if anything went wrong on the holiday, while Tom watched Kirsten being sent bitterly on her way by the angry Danny before exiting when the livid lead guitarist, and pulling Bronwen with him.

Neither Tom nor Bronwen spoke about their meeting with Kirsten March, although Tom realised Bronwen knew he would tell her in his own time.

When they ate after clinic with the kids Bron chattered to them, and smiled, merely waiting. When she rung her mother in the quarantine in the hospital. Bron made no effort to talk to about the problem. Yet it was true that Tom spoke to her, when they sat together late into the evening, watching old film-noir's together and talking in whispers.

"You wanted to know why Danny is so tense with Angy?" Bronwen turned away from watching 'All about Eve' to face her husband whom was chewing his lip in concern.

"Of course I do, I'm worried about them Tom." Bronwen said, sadly. She felt tears begin to trickle down her cheeks in upset. 'Oh for Gods Sake! I'm crying because I'm pregnant and that's the only reason.'

"Yeah, I really believe you!" Tom chuckled, pulling her closer and gently kissing her cheek and head. 'Your not to breathe a word to Angy.'

"I won't"

"Why they're being so distant and weird with each other is Kirsten March."


	7. Chapter 7: Trouble isn't idle

**Sorry I haven't written in positively ages because I've been doing exams and such, so I apologise for the wait. **

**This story is advancing, but not too long before it ends I'm sorry!**

* * *

Chapter Six

People say I'm lazy dreaming my life away  
Well they give me all kinds of advice designed to enlighten me  
When I tell them that I'm doing fine watching shadows on the wall  
Don't you miss the big time boy you're no longer on the ball  
(C) Watching the wheels: John Lennon 

Bronwen was chewing on an apple in the offices, while sitting watching Tom Jnr. (phoenix) run around in her office. The Nursery had recently rung her to warn her that there had been an epidemic of flu, and as the small Nathan-Phoenix hadn't had it, it was advised he went home to avoid giving it to his mother.

She smiled lovingly at her young son, before rubbing a protective hand over her stomach. Since she was in her youth, she'd dreamt of having a big family, but that had been ripped supposedly away due to her loss of the spleen in her late teenage years.

Yet Nathan had been born in the summer, after their wedding, a miracle child in many respects. Not only through the conception but with the drama surrounding his stay in her womb.

Bronwen, at her six month mark, had been working on a dangerous story, featuring both the naming of suspected gangsters and their affiliations with the corrupt police. She'd been heading home with the last draft of the report, while Sinead waited downstairs for her friend. Yet she'd been thrown down the stairs by the people whom she had written about. Sinead had managed to drive Bronwen to the hospital, where she'd been informed by the doctors who had been so put-out by the miracle which they didn't want.

But Nathan-Phoenix had survived. Yet they informed her when she finally did go into labour, that the internal damage would kill him. But Bronwen in labour, had sworn the baby would live, and he had. The next information was that he'd have some sort of damage and would die within a few days. And here he was, perfectly healthy and a young happy child.

"Phoenix!" she called and he laughed and ran to her. 'What are you doing?"

"Playing mummy," he replied, snuggling into her. 'I love you.'

"Love you too," she said, as Tom came in. He carried his guitar with him, and smiled at the scene. 'Oh hello what're you doing here traitor?'

"Traitor how dare you, I prefer turncoat," he smiled and kissed his wife's lips. 'Fancy for going down the park.'

"No, because Jann is here, and thinks this magazine is solely his to boss around so no he's not having it. I mean it." Bronwen folded her arms across her chest and sat on the floor with her son who giggled at his mothers anticipated silliness. Tom laughed and joined her. 'Why are you so cheerful?'

"Just had a phone call from Atlantic Records, You know those demos for the solo album I've been doing..." "Throughout our marriage," Bronwen finished before smiling. 'Yes? What?'

"They want to do one with me. All acoustic. Even your songs are going on there!" he laughed as she embraced him. 'I just want to celebrate good times,'

"That's a song," Bron laughed and hugged him once more. 'Oh yes my son! Of course we can!'

At that moment the phone rang and Tom, being not too fat from pregnancy to stand in plenty of time to answer or too young to give a good response, got up and answered the phone.

"Hello? Oh hey Angharad? How's Ireland?" Tom smiled, before nodding at Bron as she managed to stand. 'Good, and yeah she's just by here.'

Tom smiled as he handed the phone to Bron, who immediately began to chatter restlessly with Angharad as he touched his hand to her womb. She grinned and gently kissed him on the lips, as she listened to Angharad's conversation. It was under similar circumstances in these offices, that the baby in her belly had been put in there.

"Well," Tom said, as he lifted Nathan-Phoenix into the air. 'How do you feel about a new brother or sister?'

"It's brilliant dad," Nathan-Phoenix tucked his head into the crook of his father's neck. 'I'm going to be bigger than someone now.'

Tom chuckled, and kissed his sons head as Bronwen put the phone down, and turned to them both. 'This is why photographs are needed!' she laughed. At that moment, Bronwen's mentor in the editing world, Jann Wenner entered. 'Jann do me a favour and take a nice shot for me will you?'

"Of course," he smiled and picked up the camera. The three snuggled into one another before the photograph was snapped. 'You're very photogenic my lot.'

"Got any plans today love? 'cause I was thinking that me you, the twins and boyo by here," Tom ticked Nathan-Phoenix gently, who giggled at this. 'Should go out for the slap-up meal when the twins are finished with nursery and school, and enjoy?'

"I've got visiting hours this afternoon..." Bronwen smiled, brushing her fingers across her sons head in thought. 'But tonight sounds wonderful.'

***

The quarantine ward was comfortable for any patients, and as it turned out, Ioan and Jennifer were the only members of the quarantine ward apart from the varying nurses. Bronwen sat opposite her mother, through thick clear glass so the infection couldn't travel to the pregnant woman. Bronwen had just confessed that she knew about her true parentage, and to her surprise Jennifer remained perfectly calm.

"How can you be so calm?" she punctuated each word with a frantic wave of her hands. 'I have been stressing for weeks!'

"You shouldn't have... you should've just asked me..." Jennifer replied gently, shaking her head softly. 'Do you know who he is?'

"No..." Bronwen replied. 'Will you help me out here on this part mammy?'

"No," Jennifer smiled at the look of annoyance on her daughters face. 'Sweetheart, I wouldn't put so much stress in your system that it kills my unborn grandchild.' She yearned to reach over and softly run her hands over her daughters hand – but she understood she couldn't. 'Do you understand?'

"Yes..." Bron bit her lip. 'Mam... what was he like?'

"Utterly deviant, with a handsome smile and your eyes..." Jennifer smiled, reminiscing at the memories of yesteryear. 'He would wink and hold my hand... but we argued... and by the time i was pregnant, I thought it was your father but then when I saw those dark eyes... I knew I'd made a mistake in those terms.'

"Typical," Bronwen leant forward, clutching at her stomach. 'Does he know about me?'

"I only told him recently." Jennifer admitted. 'Bronwen, don't search for him before you have the baby... I'm pleading with you now love... Keep it away from you now until the little un is born into this world screaming, fighting and purple faced.'

"I promise mam," Bronwen smiled gently. 'I only wanted to ask you now mam... I wanted to just know. Journalistic instincts and all that stuff, but I've got my dad with Julian.'

"Mrs. John-Fletcher," the voice of the staff nurse made the two women turn to face her. 'Visiting hours are finished for the day, I'm sorry you'll have to leave.'

"Thank you. Mum, I'll see you tomorrow, and give Ioan a big kiss from me," Bronwen smiled at her mother. 'And I'll do the same for the twins, and Nathan-Phoenix for you.'

"Thank you, and I still can't believe you named my grandchild Phoenix," Jennifer stood, before watching Bronwen waddle out of the containment area. Julian stepped out of the shadows from behind her. 'Like your compliments?'

"Naturally love," he paused and brushed his hair from his dark eyes. 'She'll leave it permanently I think.'

"Knowing Bronwen... that's highly likely."

Meanwhile in a hotel across London, the woman who had had Bronwen followed, was sitting opposite the very staff nurse who had interrupted Bronwen and Jennifer's conversation.

"So she's quitting the search?" the woman said incredulously. 'Or is that what they suspect?'

"No," the staff nurse rapidly shook her head. 'She's not stopping is just going to push it while she's pregnant.'

"But I want her to find out now!" the woman stood abruptly and wiped her hand across her mouth in anger. 'This is sickening. I need it to hurry up.'

"But..."

"She's my step granddaughter, John would want her to be found! And by damn she will be found whether Julian likes it or not."


	8. Chapter 8: Broken hearts and superglue

**Sorry about the length of time it's taken me to upload this, been very busy recently doing various things, let alone exams. There is several uses of the "f-bomb" in this story exclusively to the news and also I apologise for doing this to Danny/Angy but at the time of authoring it seemed like a good plan then.**

* * *

_Seven_  
_Blackbird, tell no lies_  
_Blackbird, you caught my eye_  
_But the rain_  
_Has taught me that you will fly away_  
_Just as soon as the skies turn gray_  
_(C) Blackbird: Macy's Playground_

Angharad awoke to the sound of music playing, as she realised her phone was ringing. She grinned and shook her head.

Their small family had enjoyed their holiday. The Irish Countryside, truly a sight to behold, especially in the spring. The white crest of cold snow had melted away into gleaming runoff, and all the colourful wildflowers had opened their buds like eyes to meet the shining sun with smiles, their leaves like outstretched arms. The air smell of clover and wet rotting wood had made Angharad smile softly.

Danny stirred in bed next to her, although rolled over softly kissing her shoulder in passing.

"Hello love," he nuzzled it affectionately. 'Is that the alarm going?'

"Yeah," Angharad smiled, and pulled her black silk night robe around herself. 'Do you mind answering that? I'll get the paper.'

Danny grinned as he watched Angharad purposefully waggle her hips as she walked off. He rolled over and answered the phone lightly. 'Morning, Jones Madhouse.'

"You fucking bastard!" The voice belonged to none other than Gwen – Danny both choked in shock and sat up. It was rare that the relaxed wife of Dougie ever got annoyed, let alone with him or to swear only on hearing her voice. 'How the fuck could you do that to Angy and the kids?'

Danny's previous shock melted away into absolute horror and a tremble of fear to run up his spine. 'What are you on about?'

"You're slutty girlfriend sold her story to the sun and even though it's a dirty paper..." Danny blanked out the rest of the speech, as he realised something deadly.

Ever since the start of her journalistic career Angharad had bought the Times, in whatever country she was in as well as The Sun for preference to understand what a dirty rag and how people could get facts completely wrong.

"Angharad!" he ripped the boxers up from the floor, before standing and running down the stairs. He ignored the blatant crying of his son, as well as William's soft calling to him. He found Angharad standing by the door, holding the paper with shaking hands. 'Angy...'

Angy looked up at him with glittering and tear filled eyes. She'd never imagined this in her very worst nightmares – and it was then she realised why Danny had been so eager to keep his band mates from speaking of the tour. They were each loyal to their wives and would've told them.

"You... you... get out! Before I hit you one!" She said, angrily taking several steps forward and Danny realising he wasn't going to get anywhere with any explanations decided to go for a walk.

"I'll be back."

As Angharad watched him exit, she nodded with satisfaction. When he returned home there would be no one here. She rushed upstairs, and ran into the children's room, kicking the door open, stunning Connor into silence and making William gulp. 'Alright you two, are you ready to head home?'

"Yeah mummy," Connor looked at his mother with his calm gaze. 'Mummy, why are you crying?'

"I'm not really," Angharad whispered and kissed his head. 'Now, you know Sinead's mum? Bronwen's friends mum?"

"The nurse who fixed Aunty Charlotte's knee when she tripped?" Angy smiled at the innocence behind the question, and remembered that that had been during the summer celebration after the tour, when Charlotte had fallen down the steps to the garden. Sinead's mother, Mary O'Brien, resident Charge Nurse in Northern Ireland, had been staying with Bronwen until she found a flat to be near her elder daughter and it was her who'd managed to fix Charlotte's knee so she didn't limp. 'The nice redheaded lady with the floppy hat?'

"Yeah, well I'm going to ring her and she is going to take you home to your home, with her husband," Angharad brushed her hand across her sons head. 'Daddy's not coming with us this time.'

"Yeah Pippa I know! I know"

Bronwen, a few hours later, was sitting with Jann Wenner and Cynthia in her home, eating a turkey, cucumber and mustard sandwich while chatting uneasily on the phone with her young Politics journalist.

"But Bron, this is the biggest story so far for the gossip columns we should use it. Inside knowledge and all that!" Bronwen wasn't sure where Pippa had had the ridiculous idea that she could actually shorten her name as well as treat her as a fellow colleague. 'See?'

"Pippa," Bronwen chewed her lip in thought as she considered how to answer the young journalist. 'Who is giving you these ideas?'

"Why? I'm just proving myself as a journalist to you... it's exactly what I know Marilyn Coburn's doing!" Pippa sounded so annoyed, until she realised she'd fallen right into Bronwen's old trap. 'Bron...'

"Bronwen," Bronwen replied sharply. 'Pippa you are a fine journalist, and don't need to concern yourself with the gossip columns. You've got the job as head of the politics session, and Alexis was on her way down to tell you so... but I've got severe doubts about them at the moment, so keep your nose out friend.'

With that final retort she pressed her heads into her hands, and sighed heavily as she turned off the phone. Jann looked at his protégé with cool eyes, knowing that she had had both had a stressful day dealing with the fact her best friend had been cheated on, let alone the newspapers interest in the relationship.

Tom had gone off with the twins and Nathan-Phoenix to keep Bronwen's stress levels down, as well as to keep his own head on his shoulders.

"You know what you've got to do," Jann replied, softly. 'You were brought up into a journalistic world, and you know exactly what you've got to do.'

"I know, and I'm going to enjoy it in a minute," Bronwen replied slightly too sharply for both Cyn and Jann's liking. Cyn gave Jann a small smile, before ushering him out of the room. She carefully leant over and hugged Bronwen, which Bronwen seemed delighted with it.

Bronwen's Gran Elsie, had moved into a nursing home off of Kenwood, about ten minutes away from their home – although this lack of contact had become something of pain in Bronwen. She missed seeing her beloved grandmother, especially since she'd cut contact with her other grandmother – Cyn's continued presence made Bronwen relax more.

"Bronwen, you've..."

"I know Cyn and thank you," Bronwen dialled in the next few numbers with rising pleasure, as she thought of what she was going to do. 'Alexis,'

"It's Rebecca, head of your American photography section actually," Rebecca corrected, her light American accent lilting down the phone. 'What can I do for you?'

"Could you connect me up with Lydia Downs please?" Bronwen asked, feeling a small smile creep over her features of absolute delight. 'I've got something to discuss.'

"Bronwen, could you try not to argue whilst pregnant?" admonished Rebecca, her soft voice sounding more distressed by the second. 'You know your blood...'

"I'm sacking her that is sure to drop off some blood pressure at least!" Bronwen chuckled. 'Now connect me with her.'

In the two years since Charlotte's absence from the magazine (due to her heavy pregnancy with Zebedee Judd and her new line of work in chartered accountancy) Bronwen had been forced to take on Lydia Downs, an American who was slightly older than Bronwen and Angharad and whom believed both were too idiotic for their own good and had no talent. Ever since Bronwen had been forced to be polite to her, and much to her own annoyance endure her.

"Hello, Lydia Downs," the voice of Lydia made Bronwen snap out of her reverie. 'How can I help you Bronwen?'

"Lydia, its Mrs. John-Fletcher, if you must know!" Bronwen replied, slightly sharply. 'Now I want to discuss the terms of my contract with you.'

Lydia sighed exasperatedly. 'Bronwen I will have you know I have rights with the unions, and I can't be taken to court over lack of contact.'

"I'd be contacting the unions if I had something to do with the contracts. In fact I am terminating you as a contracted worker of the magazine. You'll be paid a month's wages and your contract is thereby terminated." Bronwen replied, scratching at her pregnant belly.

There was a shocked silence for more than five minutes, as Bronwen was offered a cup of tea by her step-grandmother. She took it and awaited the explosion with baited breath, although her casual sips of tea ensured her own trepidation was null and void.

"I'll contact my union!" the voice came out as a surprisingly loud whisper.

"No." Bronwen replied. 'I've already contacted the Union's and they're alright with it, so there.'

"But I need two weeks' notice!"

"I was implying that you've been sacked my darling. Not that you've resigned. That would imply two weeks notice!" Bronwen turned the phone off, before chuckling to herself. Yet within two minutes, her peace was interrupted by Angharad barrelling through. 'angy?'

"Bron..." she caught Bronwen in a hug, and such was the ferocity that not even Bronwen had the strength to muster the questions she wanted to ask. 'He's cheated on me!'

"So Danny," Bronwen emphasized Angharad's philandering husbands first name with a poke in the general directions of the musicians area where Cyn was sitting with the two women's respective children. 'Is a cheating fucking bastard, who made it with a cheap tart a couple of times, who has now sold the story to the international newspapers.' Angharad sniffled tiredly and nodded. 'What's the problem?'

Angy stared at her in disbelief and Bron watched, satisfied, when a flash of anger and indignation flashed across her friend's face; it was so much better than the agony that had been carved into her face a few minutes before. "What's the problem? My husband of five years cheated on me with a tart that can't keep her legs together for anyone famous, or so I've heard. Oh and to top it all off, he took cocaine. Fuck."

Bronwen chuckled darkly. 'I suppose that bits true. I say you divorce the bastard. If it's just for the sakes of Wills and Connor. They can't live like this. I mean you've been on the rocks for weeks. Cut your losses.'

"I can't," Angy muttered morosely. "I still love him even though he's a fucking prick, and I can't deny him the kids. No matter what else he is, he's a good father. I just need to buck up, have a chance to grieve for what he's done and then move on for Connor and Will."

Bronwen nodded, and stood. She placed her hand on her stomach and waddled across the kitchen. Angy felt a sadistic pleasure in watching her struggle to reach her supply of vodka, which she'd hidden most recently. 'If you want a drink, you'd better help me.'

"Who said I wanted a drink?" When Bron rose an eyebrow in her direction Angy laughed and heaved herself from her seat. She reached for the drink and shook her head. 'I thought you were teetotal.'

"I am, until the brats born and I find out who is my dad," Bron shrugged, picking up her orange juice and sipping it again. 'Look you and the kids are more than welcome to stay here, until you make up your mind on Danny... just you know my opinion of the man.'

"Yeah thanks Bron," Angharad embraced her once more, before sighing. 'Is it ok if I stay with you for a couple of days?'

"Of course it's fine!" Bronwen replied smiling softly. 'Just don't expect me to be cheerful when Danny comes a-begging.'

The 'couple of days' turned into a few weeks, although Bronwen managed to rent out the empty house next door for Angharad and the boys, whilst Danny lived in their London townhouse. The old Gothic building crept Danny out, since it was devoid of the laughter he was accustomed to.

But he was left alone with his thoughts and his apparent failure with Angharad. He still saw the boys', but it was always either someone else who brought them. Angharad's refusal to see him had left him depressed.

He could barely look at himself in the mirror. He'd managed to keep the fans and press away, but he knew that would last so long. They needed to talk. But Angharad refused to open the door – resulting in him either screaming for the door to open and Tom or Bron escorting him away, or him kneeling by the door begging and crying.

The news which brought them back together came on a Saturday.

Danny was standing making an idle cup of tea. It had been one month, one week and three days since Angharad had run off with Connor and one of the McFly lot was due with Connor. Saturday was footie practise for his elder son, and he'd pick him up from that.  
He was too used to this routine now. He sighed, as he noted Tom running up the drive. His eyes widened when he realised that Connor wasn't with him – but his thoughts flew to Tom's wife and children as if to prolong something which his mind didn't want to accept.

"What's wrong?" He tore open the door to him. 'Something with Bron? The baby? The kids?'

"No…" Tom suckered in some air. 'Hospital now.'

"What? I'm not sick!"

Tom spat back, gasping for air. 'Angharad's hysterical… no one can cool her.'

"What?…"

"FOR CHRIST SAKES DANNY! IT'S CONNOR! HE'S HURT!"

Danny tipped the tea into the sink and began to run down to the car, and Tom quickly joined him. They had never reached the hospital in such a short length of time.

Angharad was pacing the hospital floor when Danny arrived in his casuals. She sat down suddenly and put her head in her hands. He paused to examine her, as she chewed on her nails and looked up at every passing doctor, although when none spoke tears flew to her eyes. She continued to sit, and when she turned, her eyes collided with his. Grief had filled them. He walked towards her.

"Danny!" Any anger was forgotten as she ran into his arms. He stopped dead and just held her as she sobbed into his chest. He held her closer and brushed his lips along her head soothingly.

"Shhh, what's happened?" He whispered.

"I was doing the photograph album – you know, and he was sitting on the coffee table," Angharad sobbed, hiccoughing occasionally. 'And the phone rang so I went and answered it. Then there was this terrible bang and he'd fallen…and he just started to bleed and wasn't making a noise and I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry Danny.'

"No, no it's me who should be apologising," Danny whispered, gently kissing her head. 'If I'd been there… look Angy the doctors coming.'

The two as one turned to face the doctor who approached them. He smiled wearily at them before sighing. 'Connor is alright… there's no lasting damage…'

"Thank God," Angharad whispered, clutching at Danny's hand. 'Is he alright? Can I see her?'

"Of course Mrs. Jones," The doctor stepped aside for both Danny and Angharad to walk through to see their son. 'How's your blood pressure?'

Danny stopped dead. Blood pressure?

"Its fine doctor," Angharad replied with haste before hurrying into the room. Danny sensed there wasn't time to ask.

The toddler was lying on his back chattering contentedly as the nurse quietly checked him over. Angharad smiled with relief and quickly went over to join her. 'It's alright I want to hold him.'

The nurse smiled, before glancing at Danny and gasping. 'Mr…'

"Please," Danny raised his hand. 'I just want her.'

The nurse realising the gravity of the situation beat a hasty retreat. Danny felt the guilt rise again – before reaching out to touch Angharad's shoulder. She didn't shove him away but rather relaxed under it.

"I'm…"

"It doesn't matter," Angharad said as she looked at their small son. 'I'm a stubborn old mare – but Connor and Will are more important in this argument. If you'd have been there you would've stuck it in.'

"Angy, I shouldn't have done it…" He whispered, stepping over to look at his son and wife. 'Angy I'm dying in that house…'

"Danny," She sighed, brushing her daughter's fine hair over the cut. 'When this happened, I realised something. You and them are my life. There aren't any guarantees – it could've been worse. You might have walked out and I might have never seen you again. I can't be away from you any more. But Danny, please, you have to promise me that nothing like what happened is ever going to happen again, because I can't stand the pain. If you want to be with me, it has to be only me. Please, please promise me that you won't hurt me that way again.'

Danny sighed with relief – before capturing her in a tight hug and kissing the back of her neck. 'I promise.'


	9. Chapter 9: The concerns of friends'

**Eight**

My lullaby in blue.  
My lullaby in blue.  
**(C) My lullaby in blue: Bette Midler **

"Ok there Locke?" 

At the use of her maiden name, Angharad looked up to be greeted with the mischievous glittering emerald eyes of Sinead O'Brien-Hill, the future Prime Minister of Great Britain, if reports were to be believed, Immediately Angharad grimaced.

"What do you want?" She ground out, scowling at the Irish woman with barely hidden contempt, although she quickly realised how annoyed she was with herself that she had given her sparring partner something to smirk about.

The two women shared an uneasy and terse friendship (if it could be called that) mainly due to Sinead's own vicious associations with the Irish Renegade Guards, whom she had been a runner for in her youth. Not to mention Sinead was jealous of the close relationship that Angharad shared with Bronwen, not something that Sinead had ever been forced to share until a few months before.

"Been dropping Bron off," Sinead said, cheerfully, obviously delighted in the raw anger which she had inspired with Angharad just by appearing. 'So your man was having an affair?'

"Bugger off," Angharad stood, quietly hoping a stray fly would wander into Sinead's mouth and just choke the self-confident smile off her face. 'Go do something! Like get arrested for confidence trickery!'

"I'm in Politics, I do confidence trickery and get away with it," Sinead replied, eying Angharad as she watched as Angharad started to pack away several folders with old photographs away. 'Know who she is?'

"Kirsten March, a wayward heiress of some kind," Angharad replied, turning to Sinead. She was surprised to note the sympathetic look in the Irish woman's eyes. 'Why the interest?'

"If you want me or some of my dad's associates to sort her out, I can," Sinead offered. She folded her arms across her chest. 'The Marches are old enemies of Ireland. Her dad was in Bloody Sunday. A dark day in all Ireland and Englan's .'

"Oh but you lot are so classy," Angharad stated sarcastically, although she didn't know why. 'Bodies floating in the Thames.'

"I've seen worse than that, and so has Bron in our time in Ireland," Sinead shivered, and bit her lip ominously. 'We've both watched dead bodies of men without heads being delivered to their widows in sacks, or heard screams as a woman is receiving unmentionable things done to her.'

There was an ominous silence before Sinead broke it with a soft laugh. Angharad looked at Sinead, knowing that it wasn't a laugh of fun, but an ironic one. Angharad realised that when Bronwen talked about Sinead and her living in Ireland, Bronwen living on the Army Base with her family while meeting the impoverished Sinead — already spewing her beliefs, she never mentioned any dark times.

No because there were too many. Sinead knew the young welsh girl knew about Bronwen saving her as a child, by standing defiantly in front of a young soldier who didn't dare shoot one of his 'own.' But she only knew a little about Sinead's life. She only knew that Sinead's father was an operative the Irish Renegade Guards and had saved her life when she had been kidnapped. She didn't know about the time Sinead had hugged Bronwen close to her chest, as she thought the girl lay dying.

Yes the two were joined by fear, Bronwen and her, but Sinead needed advice, and she didn't need someone defying her. She needed to understand her, and her own sad fears.

"But Taff, I need a proper blarney. Coffee. Now. Canteen." Sinead stalked out without saying another word. 

The canteen to Curtis Lee was filled with stars. Quite often Keith Richards or Billy Idol would be found chowing down a burger or drinking some less than dangerous drink. Sometimes it was a politician, such as Tony Blair or David Cameron - although the latter tended to avoid the offices due to Bronwen's full blooded attack on Tories in general.

Yet today the canteen was nearly completely empty.

,

With the exception of a photojournalist and the future Prime Minister. 

"I think I've found Bron's dad," Sinead admitted as Angharad took a sip of her tea. She wasn't one to scrape for anything, especially not a comment. 'But I don't know how to tell or if I can even.'

"Why not?" demanded Angharad, slamming the mug down on the table, startling several canteen workers. 'You know how much finding her dad means to her? Is he something bad? Drug Addict? Addict to anything? Dead even?'

"No vices whatsoever," Sinead took a swig of her coffee before allowing a bitter laugh to come to the front of her throat. 'Although I wish to God there was something so I had a true excuse to be afraid of telling her.'

"Then why haven't you told her?" Angharad demanded.

"It's bloody Julian!"

The announcement came out as bitter as the coffee Sinead was drinking. Angharad stared at the Irish woman in surprise, and all the connotations which tied Bronwen to Julian suddenly became clear. The same dark eyes, the same way of laughing (which Julian rarely did), the way the two could just look at each other and understand what they meant. Julian's protectiveness of her, and hers of him, and just the way she snuggled into him while watching a film, even now. Her nose was a mixture of Cynthia's and Jenn's, and Angharad gulped.

Somehow this news united Sinead and Angharad - because it was dangerous. It would rip Bronwen's world apart, and if Angharad believed she knew what Sinead was thinking, she knew that the circle of friends (Julian, Jennifer, Jane, Cynthia, Zak, Hugh and Carol) almost certainly knew the truth but were hiding a secret which was bound to come out in a matter of weeks.

"I shouldn't be surprised really," Sinead said suddenly, breaking Angharad's thoughts. 'When we were kids, Julian was always there to pick her up when she fell or to teach her to do something.'

"But why tell me?" Angharad asked softly. 'I don't know what to do!'

"I need someone to share the burden with," Sinead explained. 'I've warned Tom as well just so you know. He's not for telling her at the minute but let it come out after the birth of the baby and whatnot. But I've got a bad feeling in my belly that she'll know... and I just need to tell Julian to get his backside into gear... but I needed to tell someone...'

"Best idea," Angharad reassured her. 'We'll confront Julian tomorrow, after Bron's gone off to see that play with Jann... we don't want an argument in front of her which will lead to Preterm labour.' 

For a few minutes Sinead was silent before gently laughing: 'You know what you're not so bad Locke.' Angharad almost took offence, before she realised Sinead was flashing her, a very sincere smile.

The two new allies spoke for a good half hour in good terms, Sinead told Angharad about her plans for the future, while Angharad explained that Danny and her were now going to go to marriage counselling. 

Suddenly, Sinead's face hardened as she remembered something before she reached into her canvas bag, and withdrew a crumpled and grainy, photograph out of her bag. She gave the photograph to Angharad, who examined it closely. One person was clearly Bronwen, as she walked down the street pushing Nathan-Phoenix in the pram while the twins played alongside her.

"Do you know who the men in this shot are?" Sinead tapped the photograph with her finger. Angharad examined it and could see two men who were walking dangerously close behind Bronwen in the photograph. 'I had Bron followed because I was busy but noted this black sedan following her all the time.'

"That is Sean Lennon," Angharad said, pointing to the one with glasses. 'The other guy I've seen but only briefly. Don't know where though.'

"Thanks, but I'll mash his head in!" Sinead murmured. 'He's been following the kids and all! That's going too far!'

"What's going too far now?"

Bronwen waddled in, smiling at Sinead. Sinead smiled at her old friend, and immediately touched her friend's pregnant belly. She quickly noted Bron's smile though, and her nervously excited gaze. Angharad also noted it, but slipped the photo into her bag unobserved by Bron.

"What's wrong with you?" Angharad asked.

"Girls," Bronwen ushered a man forward from the doorway. Both Sinead and Angharad gasped. 'This is Yoko Ono's Personal Assistant. She's coming out of retirement and offering me an interview. What do you think?'

Neither spoke for the man was the man in the photograph. The man in the black sedan, who followed the children and Bronwen. They ignored Bronwen's chatter and how this was going to be a brilliant interview, because now fear was filling each of their bellies.

They both understood the switch in their situations.

Yoko knew about Bronwen's relationship as granddaughter to John… and she wasn't going to let it lie.


	10. Chapter 10: The truth is coming out

_Sorry for not updating for ages but I've been juggling hospitals with going on holiday - but I hope you enjoy my work._

* * *

**Nine  
**_**It's the realisation you're not ten feet tall  
the realisation you don't know it all.  
World domination makes you feel so small  
Realisation of it all.  
Stealing coppers off your mantelpiece.  
Stumbling through life without one good deed.  
(C) Realisation: The View**_

Cynthia was standing in the kitchen, daydreaming lazily. The days were getting longer in her life even though the days were drawing shorter in her life, although Cyn didn't dare mention that to Bronwen, who would be furious at the thought of losing her grandmother.

The front door suddenly clicked open, as Angharad rushed through calling her granddaughters name, the panic evident in her tone.

"She's not here!" Cynthia replied, as Angharad came rushing through. 'She's still in her offices...'

"What?" Angharad gulped in some air. 'She should be home by now am I right?'

"She should be, but she's interviewing someone after her play with Jann, so I was told to keep an eye on the house cause Tom's out as well though he's in the zoo with the kids," Cynthia raised her eyebrow at Angharad feeling trepidation rising up her back. 'Now what's the bother about?'

"Cyn, I know you know," Angharad said, leaning on the kitchen cabinet.

Cynthia sighed and ignored Angharad's statement for a few moments before she turned to face Angharad with affected nonchalance. 'What was that dear?'

"Bronwen's dad is your son. Unless you've forgotten, his name is Julian," Angharad stated. Cynthia froze. 'And if one of you lot you don't tell her Yoko will!'

"I take it, the rumours that she's in London are true, and I take it she wants an interview with the notoriously workshy Bronwen out of retirement?" Cynthia asked. Angharad nodded although she was frowning.

"How the hell do you know about that?" Angharad asked, before she suddenly realised. 'Old sixties contacts?' Cynthia offered her a soft smile and nod in response. 'Well if they warned you, then why the fuck didn't you tell Bron? You're her Gran!'

"I didn't tell her, simply because Bronwen didn't need to know when she was growing up," Cynthia turned to Angharad with a sad smile. 'Julian didn't notice cause Jen was married, but most of the nutter's noticed and so did I. But we didn't tell her because she **had **a father. Maybe not the one all of us would've wanted, but she had a good life.'

"But why now does Yoko know?"

"Bronwen and Julian have never appeared together in a party, so it's only occasionally people guess they look alike!" Cynthia sighed. 'Then of course Bron cropped her hair down to a mop top with those red slices in her hair... and went to that party with Julian and Yoko turned up with Sean, and she probably saw Bronwen smile or snarl... and it clicked in...'

"Oh shit... what'll she do now?" Angharad asked.

"Yoko Ono is a mischief maker, she stole my husband on a whim – mind in many respects I got rid of the bastard, and in later life thanked her. But if she can hurt Julian in any way she will," Cynthia replied. 'Bron is the best target, she won't care about that bairn in her belly... she'll hurt her and try to keep the girl on her side.'

"I can't believe this," Angy pulled a face. 'What's your advice?'

"Believe me, keep Bron close... and Yoko closer." Cyn turned away to pick up her lemonade. 'Who's she interviewing?'

"Probably Yoko," Angy said, although Cynthia paled and quickly dashed the lemonade into the sink. 'What's wrong?'

"She's telling her today! That's the plot!" Cynthia snapped.

Only an hour and twenty minutes drive down the road, Bronwen was sitting in her office chatting to Yoko Ono. Although Yoko duly noted she held nothing but a barely repressed contempt for her. The woman who had caused the final breakup of the Lennon marriage. Yet she remained in conversation, although suddenly the phone came on for the third.

"Sorry about this Yoko," Bronwen apologised, turning off the phone and muttering something in Gaelic to herself. 'Friend of mine.'

"She seems anxious to meet you,"

"She does doesn't she?" Bronwen bit her lip, before suddenly sitting up. 'Do you hear that?'

"Hear what?"

"Cyn," Bron pointed and sure enough there was Cynthia Lennon walking down the corridor to greet her true granddaughter – to hide her from Yoko. Yoko recognised the walk, but didn't recognise the protective glare in her eyes, the anger of over 40 years.

As Bronwen rattled the doorknob she cursed under her breath. The door had finally been done in by the amount of times she'd slammed it and was currently locked. From the other side Cyn rattled it frantically.

"Bronwen!" she called. 'Bronwen?'

"Give it a few minutes Cynthia," Bronwen replied, sighing and walking around to where Cyn could see through the glass partition. Yet Cynthia still panicked. She could see the malicious smile on Yoko's face.

In a matter of minutes she watched the proceedings with tearful eyes. The words couldn't be heard properly. Yet the distraught expression on Bronwen's face and Yoko's almost euphoric one, informed her that she was enlightening her of Bron true heritage.

Bronwen frantically, shaking her head grasping at her pregnant stomach as if it was the only thing holding her upright – Yoko picking up a photograph of Julian from Bron's desk and comparing their features. The smallest of smiles hinted Bronwen's features and she turned away. Suddenly with absolute viciousness, she kicked open the door and stormed out.

Julian was walking up the stairs when Bron was heading down. Cynthia was running behind her calling her, and it was then he knew that the best kept secret was out.

"Bronwen,"

"You knew! You knew!" she snapped, glaring at him. 'Get out of my way!'

"Bronwen I couldn't tell you!"

"Couldn't or wouldn't! NOW FUCK OFF!" She delivered the angry words with such malice that even Cyn couldn't believe how closely she resembled John. Yet this was forgotten as she raced outside into the rain and down into the street.

A mere 20 minute walk later, found Bronwen pacing her old friends apartment as small tears dripped down her cheeks and face. Angharad and Sinead watched her restlessness with unease.

"I can't believe it!" she murmured softly, holding her bump. 'Julian is my dad.'

"That's what I was trying to tell you on the phone before you got to the offices," Sinead said, gently leaning over and brushing her hand over Bronwen's womb. 'Now calm down you'll do your baby no favours.'

"I can't believe he couldn't tell me!" Bronwen continued, before she suddenly grasped at her womb and gasped in sudden pain. Both Angharad and Sinead looked down ominously to see the puddle of water on the floor as well as marking her leggings. 'Ok, now I'm seriously worried. I'm 2 days short of being three months shy of giving birth...'

"Sinead get hold of Jenn and Tom!" Angy ordered, immediately taking action.

True enough, Snead's first phone call went to Jennifer, who was still in the quarantine ward of the hospital where Bron was giving birth. Jenifer was still waiting to be cleared by her doctor along with Ioan, and if truth was told she couldn't wait to see her daughter.

"Jennifer, Sinead here!" she said, her bright Irish accent become more evident in her panic. 'Are you alright?'

"Sinead Mary O'Brien you are not ringing because you simply are asking about my general health?" Jennifer snapped. 'How is my daughter?'

"Julian told you huh?" Sinead muttered something in her native language of Gaelic.

"Sinead just let me speak to her," Jennifer said, authoritatively.

"I really can't... she's gone into preterm labour and both her and the baby are in real distress." Sinead paused, and she knew she had wasted a precious second and it would concern Jennifer.

"And?" Sinead could hear the fear in Jennifer's voice as she demanded the reply. Jennifer knew there was something wrong with her eldest child and only daughter. 'Sinead...'

"It's possible she'll not make it through the labour and neither will the baby."

Jennifer blindly looked around, at Julian before wiping her face down. Sinead was saying quick reassurances. But she blindly ignored her and thanked her before putting the phone down. Despite her knowledge of Bron's conception and Julian's admittance that Yoko had told her – it still shocked her. She felt her heart break at the very thought of losing her only daughter.

"Mummy," she looked across at where Ioan was sitting cross legged on his father's lap. His dark eyes gazed at his mother tearfully. 'Is Bron ok?'

Jenn smiled softly but shook her head. 'No. The stork's being nasty and not handing over the baby nicely. So it's upsetting Bronwen.'

She hadn't really finished before Julian was kissing his sons head and was rushing up and out of quarantine onto the general wards. Frantic thoughts filled his mind. This was his fault after all for even letting Yoko near her.

Unfortunately his thoughts were that frenzied that he charged straight into Angharad who was rounding a corner from the women's toilets. She let out a total growl of rage at the sight of him.

"What are you doing here? And where is Jenn?" she demanded.

"Quarantine still, how is Bronwen?" Julian ignored the glare he was receiving off of Angharad. 'Answer m –'

"She's in torturous labour with a baby only a few days off being three months early and is in distress like her!" Angharad snapped. 'How could you be so daft in letting Yoko Ono near her?'

"I didn't exactly plan this!" Julian gestured around the room. 'Or that she would go into labour! Anyhow what business is it of yours?'

"It's my business when I have to comfort her and then rush her to the hospital when she goes into premature labour!" Angharad snarled, her face livid with anger.

"She is my concern not yours. I have always been there Angharad. I wanted to tell her so often but I didn't! This." He gestured once more. 'Wasn't ever meant to happen?'

"Like fuck you were always there!" Angharad's chest heaved with the fury coursing through her body; she was almost ready to rip the bastard's head off his shoulders. 'I've always been there and that makes her my concern. I was there when her dad died. She told me she wasn't going to have kids first out of her friends and family, and you can go about being her father but he was there even if he was a bastard but he raised her. You have no fucking reason to preach to me. Now fucking get out of my sight. She doesn't need to see you right now. You've caused enough damage.'

Any more arguments were cut off by the entrance of Tom. He was red faced from his frantic run to the car as well as over 120 mph journey to the hospital. He caught hold of Angy's shoulders.

"Angy where is she? Is she ok?"

"She's in the labour room now, the doctors are with her." Angy assured him, as she caught his hands and encouraged him to follow him down the corridors.

As his wife's wails grew closer, Tom felt his stomach drop. All his own over her digging too closely to her proper father were being realised. As he entered the room, he was greeted with the terrible sight of his wife screaming and a tiny baby boy being taken from the room.

"Where are you taking my son?" she screamed. 'Please?'

"Intensive care unit," replied the nurse brusquely. 'Mrs. Fletcher will you please calm down?'

"You calm bloody down!" Bron snapped, looking slightly hysterical. Tom rushed in and took her in his arms. 'Tom stay with him until I get this stupid cow to agree with me!'

"No,"

"He needs his dad!" Bron sobbed. 'Please!'

"I can stay with him." Julian offered from the doorway. Both parents looked up; Bron's eyes were filled with tears. 'Look...'

"Fuck off Julian! Haven't you done enough?" Tom snapped, holding Bron closer to him. She sobbed openly onto his chest. 'Just fuck off!'

Julian was already walking with tears dripping down his cheeks, as he thought of all the damage which had been caused by one truth not aired. As he passed the intensive care ward, he noted the tiny form of his new grandson. But he didn't enter.

After all he knew he wasn't welcome.


	11. Chapter 11: Whispering words of wisdom!

Minutes turned into hours and Tom sat in front of the baby bed, in which his little boy lay hooked up to a breathing machine, his eyes riveted to the heart monitor - his only way to tell that he was even alive. His heart ached for him… such a tiny bundle, already having to fight for his small life. He had tubes everywhere and he had cried at first upon seeing him. Now, his body was numb and his mind empty. The rest of him was torn between crying and getting angry, and he could do neither… Not that he didn't want to. It just wasn't coming out.

His thoughts turned to Bronwen who was still asleep upstairs somewhere. What would she do when she woke up, alone and probably just as heart-broken as him when she heard the news? She would most likely feel just as lonely, too… Because, for all the doctors and nurses Tom had spoken to in the last 3 hours, he felt very lonely. Besides the phone calls from friends and family to find out how everything was going, he was here alone with his anxiety, his fears and his heartache.

"Mr Fletcher?" A woman's voice broke into his thoughts and Ryan turned his head towards it. It was a nurse, as her uniform suggested, and he stood to greet her.

"Yes?"

"Someone called from recovery saying that you had asked to be warned when Mrs. John-Fletcher would wake up. She just did and is asking anxiously about you and the baby... She is being taken back to her room."

"Thank you." Tom nodded gratefully and sighed, casting a glance at the small infant in the bed. "I'm sorry Treasure, but I have to go see Mommy." He told them, blowing him a kiss. "I'll be back soon. Take care of yourself sweetheart.'

However, he was colliding with Bronwen in the doorway, and he scowled immediately on seeing her. 'Hello Tom, what're you doing here?'

"What're you doing here more like?" Bronwen crouched in front of the incubator and brushed at the hand which was protruding from the glass, ignoring his question. 'Bronwen love?'

"I got sick of those bloody nurses," Bronwen replied, sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose. She brushed her hand across the baby's face. 'He's so small! I've never seen a baby so small!'

"Your mum says you were smaller," Bron threw a glance at Tom. 'She called up while you were recovering... look I've set up a camp bed by the incubator.'

"No..." Bronwen paused looking at the child and nodding. 'I'll stay with him... my little boy.'

"Bron, you need rest,"

"Perfect place to rest!" Bronwen replied sharply, before sighing and hugging her husband. 'Our sons and daughter need their dad. I want to spend time with my new son... and tomorrow you spend time with him.'

"You have a weird way on how to coerce someone," Tom hugged her close and kissed the top of her head lovingly. 'Look I'll call back later tonight.'

Bronwen acknowledged this in silence, before kneeling and uttering the name she'd read to Nathan-Phoenix so often as well as the name she'd heard whispered so often and the one she had now accepted.

"Hello Edward Julian."

***

From sitting in his seat, John Lennon watched quietly as his granddaughter settled into her own seat. When she was a child, he used to lull her to sleep with his singing. Sometimes he was sure she still sensed him around, watching over her as she drifted off. He'd always loved her from the moment she was born, six weeks early. He'd proudly watched her grow. From child to woman – into a journalist who wrote her mind as clear as he sung it.

He watched as she drifted off to sleep, before helpfully kissing her head to help her sleep easier and more peacefully. However, his interest was focused on his new grandson. His great grandson. From the moment of conception he'd sensed the birth of a new Lennon – a savage heart beating to his mothers, although his mother's love had overwhelmed him much to John's amusement.

"Hello son," he whispered. 'How are you?'

_Mummy ill. _It always amused John that a baby could mind speak to their guardian angels – he'd often enjoyed long conversations with the twins when they'd been tiny. His favourite conversations had been with Nathan though; whose little giggles reminded him of Bron at that age. _She's worried about me. _

"You'll be fine son," John reassured him. He'd already taken a good look into the future. The little boy will be a fine musician, he predicted, even if he will be slightly deaf in his right ear through the torturous labour. 'Oh yes, you're your mother's son alright, same eyes as me.'

John's chatter to the little one went unnoticed by his granddaughter, who faintly heard his talk although did not acknowledge it. She dreamed of the day when she'd almost lost the baby in this condition. Of the father she had known mocking her in death, his face still evading her and his voice had changed to voice of Richard Burton's – but this time he was holding a baby and refusing to give it back to her before he disappeared and she was just screaming for her last son.

"BRONWEN!"

Bronwen was jolted from her nightmare by the gentle hand of Julian on her shoulder, and she caught him in a hug sobbing into her father's shoulder and he held her. He just held her and kissed her head, allowing the frustrated tears to slip down her cheeks. His own tears mingled with in hers, as he remembered the wasted years they'd shared.

"Shh now ladybug," he said, using his old nickname for her as a child. 'The baby is fine… he's got slight deafness in his ear but apart from that he's fine… what're you crying for?'

"I nearly killed him," Bron murmured, hugging him close and whimpering. 'Just because I'm stubborn.'

Julian laughed softly. 'That unfortunately is a trait you'll never escape.' He paused to examine her. 'I'm sorry I never told you…'

"Why didn't you?" Bron asked, looking at him with genuine surprise and curiosity. 'You had chance…'

"You had a dad, and when your mum told me… I know it was stupid but my head warned me off telling you…" he didn't finish as Bron hugged him close once more, he hadn't realised he'd started to cry until a moment ago. 'I'm so sorry.'

"Dad…" she looked up at him and smiled, brushing her fingers across his in comfort. 'You've always been a father to me… I wasn't annoyed with that fact… it was the fact I found out from someone who must hate me.'

The two grinned, and mutually reached the briefest understanding. Both had accepted the past and future, and there was a mutual adoration for one another. They'd both somehow always known – for Bron it had been her high regard of John as a teenager just beginning to truly appreciate music. Julian it had been John's angel informing him of something he already knew.

"Thought of a name?" he asked, as he put his arm around her shoulder to examine the new baby.

"Edward Julian," she smiled. 'After his granddad.'


	12. Chapter 12: winding roads not me

Eleven

Everyday is a winding road  
I get a little bit closer  
Everyday is a faded sign  
I get a little bit closer to feeling fine

I've been swimming in a sea of anarchy  
I've been living on coffee and nicotine  
I've been wondering if all the things I've seen  
Were ever real, were ever really happening  
(C) Sheryl Crow: Everyday is a winding road.

Kenwood was finished by the time that Edward Julian was allowed out of hospital, about three weeks after his birth. The small child and his siblings' soon filled the house with his giggles and naive laughter, not to mention that Bronwen's mother and newly found father had moved in for a while as the air provided a much needed rest for Jennifer and little Ioan. Then of course, Cynthia had moved into her old wing of the house. Elsie, Bronwen's other gran, was put with full time nursing staff in a renovated pool house which served as some of Cyn's studio's. The house was large enough to entertain the family, as well as the fact Julian arranged for a cottage to be built on some of the land so that he was within walking distance of his eldest's home if there was any trouble, although that cottage remained being built.  
The house was filled with the shouts of children now, Cynthia discovered and she realised why. Cyn and John had fitted into each others lives simply because they had to with the birth of Julian – and John had never settled into the relationship as a true father should've but that was the heartbreaking truth. Tom _wanted_ to be a father – and regularly proved himself to be a good one. Bronwen wasn't Cynthia, although she still maintained her position as a journalist and lady of the house and she regularly put Tom in his place when she felt the need to.  
Not that Cynthia often commented, especially when Bronwen sat with her through the evenings and talked insistently about the past and the future. It remained a peaceful atmosphere right up to Edward's third month of being alive and home from the hospital.  
"You big baby," Bronwen cooed, kissing her wriggling sons belly as he kicked out at her, 'Yes you are... now then, which book was I reading to you?'  
"You were reading All the president's men to him," Cynthia laughed teasingly as she walked through. 'Where's your mum?'  
"Mum's taken the kids out for a couple of hours for me to connect with Edward here," Bronwen kissed her sons face and he looked up at her. 'Cyn, he is dad on his feet.'  
"You, you mean, I see you around the eyes, especially when he's sulking," Cynthia grinned. 'Do you want me to take him?'  
"No I should be fine," Bronwen grinned, until she noted her father coming in muttering to himself. 'Dad?' He ignored her. 'Jules?' He turned immediately, concerned that she was annoyed with him. 'Dad, what's wrong?'  
"Remember the woman who caused that little mister to be born?" he gave an affectionate waggle of his fingers in his grandson's direction. 'Well she's here.'  
"What for?" Bronwen pulled Edward out of his previous position. 'The christening is next week? And you know that this little buggers godfather is going to be Paul, and godmother Sinead O'Brien.'  
"Didn't Yoko want Sean to be godfather?" Cynthia asked, taking her great grandson of his mother at which he protested loudly, although Bronwen immediately took him back at this protest.  
"Yes," Bronwen kissed her sons cheek lightly, before she handed him to his grandfather whom grinned at him. 'But I told her where to go... I'm already on ok terms with Sean, but I don't want her near my son. Why now does she appear?'  
"I remember May Pang saying that when John went with Yoko because she had a cure for smoking, that when she saw John next he refused to acknowledge her... it's as if she has a hold on him..." Julian said, holding his grandson aloft earning him cries of jubilation with delight. 'Maybe she thinks she's got the same hold on you?'  
"She's in for a shock cause I'm not John Lennon," Bronwen replied, before smiling at Cyn. 'Cynthia send her in, I'm ready waiting and prepared for her antics let alone with my son.'  
When Cynthia walked away, so did Julian as he gave his grandson a final kiss on the cheek before handing him back to his mother who grinned and kissed his face all over – earning her squeals of utter delight.  
Julian frowned, slightly at this scene although ultimately didn't comment. He just gave a look to the heavens of utter annoyance and looked in the mirror. He could see the younger version of his father there appearing.  
_You better not let her be as weakwilled as you dad – otherwise I'll do something i wont regret_

When Yoko entered Kenwood, she was immediately surprised how Bronwen and Tom had changed the house since her arrival with John there in the 60's. The halls were now filled with various artworks, including an Andy Warhol piece, although most were painted by varying artists of less-than-famous origins.  
Cynthia guided her through to where Bronwen was sitting with her son. Yoko looked at the girl and was immediately reminded of John. The same small smile as she thought of something private and happy, as well as his way of holding her hands in a certain position so that no one would shift her by grasping at them. Not even the small wriggling brown-haired boy who'd already inherited his great-grandfather's eyes.  
"Good morning," Bronwen greeted, looking up at the woman. The dark eyes of Bronwen met Yoko's and Yoko flinched. 'What can I do you for? I published the interview a couple of months back.'  
"I came by to discuss Sean being the childs godfather," she gave a smile in the direction of Edward whom paid her no mind and continued to play with his mothers hands. 'I mean he is his uncle.'  
"So is Ioan," Bronwen replied equally as quickly. 'And the child's name is Edward...' then her eyes changed and for once Yoko realised she was not dealing with John Lennon's whose sometimes confused feelings she could manipulate. 'Now get this straight Yoko, I never want to see you darken my door especially when it comes to this little one who may I add you nearly killed!'  
"I didn't nearly..."  
"You delivered news which brought about an early labour, now if you don't fuck off from my family I swear to God Yoko, you will see the vindictive side of me that you managed to manipulate out of John.'  
"You think you're so tough..." Yoko stepped forward, although was surprised when Bronwen mimicked the action. 'Exactly like...'  
"John," Bronwen flashed a grin, which almost forced Yoko to faint. It was then she looked into Bronwen's face and saw John Lennon staring at her. She had John's spirit but somehow wasn't him. 'I've been told that before now... but remember... there's another bit of me which belongs to me alone and if you come near me or my family again I will personally publish John's diaries.'  
"You can't touch them," Yoko felt her mouth dry up.  
John's diaries were the last sole possessions that Yoko had managed to keep away from Julian – but this was another reason she had hunted Bronwen so reverently. In his last will and testament, John had personally added a small section to be read by his eldest granddaughter – naturally Yoko had read it after his murder. It read that John's eldest granddaughter was to receive his diaries and a letter which wasn't to be read by anyone but her. But Yoko knew some of the articles contained some dangerous things – and many people would've killed to get their hands on John's diaries.  
"I can Yoko, they are rightfully mine, and if I so wish I can get them," Bronwen snapped, before sighing. 'Yoko, you don't appreciate what all this has done to me! I don't want to be John's grandchild particularly. I want to be the woman I am.'  
"Bronwen, Sean,"  
"Is a friend, and uncle I admit," Bronwen replied slightly annoyed. 'Yoko that is my warning and it's my final one. When I am ready to forgive you for nearly taking my child's life then I'll call you... but for no other reason and until that moment.'  
Yoko seemed stunned by Bronwen's anger and her sudden negotiation but nodded before reaching into her purse and pulling out a small withered envelope. Bronwen gently placed Edward down, ignoring his protests and took the letter off of her. 'It's from John.' Bronwen looked up eyebrows quirking. 'He wrote it for you shortly before he died... I've never read it, because John warned me never to. It was yours alone.'  
Bronwen took it and nodded, although her next words were cut off by a highpitched yell of 'MAMMY! WE'RE BACK!'  
Bronwen shook her head and gave a slightly reproving yet apologetic look at Yoko, before walking through to greet her mother and to try and coerce her into the kitchen away from the woman she considered antichrist. Yoko glanced in the mirror to see John smirking at her, but when she blinked he had gone again.  
"Yoko, this way out," Bronwen said quietly from the doorway and leaning on the door frame as the elderly woman, exited. 'I'll read it.'

**

Tom lay in bed with Bronwen later, brushing her hair away from her head and kissing her lips idly. She grinned, before rolling over and pulling the sheets around herself tight.  
"What was the letter she gave you about then?" he asked, looking into his wife's eyes with a soft severity. 'And don't lie and say nothing.'  
"Havent read it yet, don't think I have the bottle," Bronwen smirked. 'Weird how he knew me isn't it?'  
"Not really, I've noticed whenever your in danger there's always someone trustworthy there to help you..."  
"You don't trust Sinead,"  
"Someone obviously does, perhaps you and John were connected somehow mentally but ugh thats crap,"  
"Like your old partygirl vid?" Bronwen kissed him on the lips to shush his protests. 'Look in the morning you can read it to me if you want.'  
"Please," Tom kissed her once more. 'Good night love.' 


	13. AUTHORS NOTE READ PLEASE

Authors note.

How do you feel about me re-writing this entire story? And what do you think of that idea, because I feel this is a very weak story, although I'd like to keep the thing about John within it.


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